Page 54 of Twins for the Enemy

“I could go with you to the engagement party,” she says.

I stop. With other people, I’d think someone was trying to manipulate me—softening me before asking for what they want—but Farah isn’t like that. She also doesn’t know that I can’t have her at the party.

“I know I’m not invited, and I know I could be recognized, but it’d be cool to meet your sister.”

“Why are you so interested in meeting Ellie?” I ask.

She shrugs, but the look in her face starts to harden. “She’s someone you care a lot about. If you care about them, I care about them.”

“You’ll be overwhelmed,” I say. “I’d rather not scare you away that quickly. Ellie will be overwhelmed with everything. You two can meet at another party.”

“Do you go to a lot?”

“When I want to. With you, I’ve just been enjoying our private moments.”

I kiss her again, but even as she kisses back, the change is noticeable. There’s a distance between us even as we’re skin-to-skin.

I’ll make it up to her. With the way she feels, it’ll be the kind of night where the everyday moments slip away. Like chlorinated water. Like clothes. Like a lie.

Chapter seventeen

~FARAH~

It’s a strange kind of comfort, waking up in a hotel room that costs more per night than my old building’s rent combined.

Maybe it’s not just the price tag that feels bittersweet.

Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve gone from clawing my way through hell to sinking into sheets that feel like heaven—knowing full well clouds don’t hold forever. Sooner or later, they break. And when they do, you fall. Hard.

I roll over and freeze. Kieran’s side of the bed is empty.

My hand slides across the sheets, still faintly warm, like he was just here. I try to talk myself down—he could be out running, handling business, anything—but it feels too familiar. Too expected.

Men like him hunt what they want. Acquire it.

And when they’ve stripped it for value, they walk away and leave the rest to rot.

If Ellie is his sister, why is he trying so hard to stop me from meeting her? How foolish would I be to not consider that he’s the type to keep a few women in his bed? What do I possibly have to keep him satisfied when he could have any other woman in any city? Crippling self-doubt and a childish need for validation?

The door separating the bedroom from the rest of the hotel suite opens. Kieran carries in a mug with a thin ribbon of steam swaying above it. The questions shrouding my thoughts fade as I look at him. Even in the early morning, he looks like a propaganda ad for becoming a lumberjack. Rugged without lookinggrimy. Stunning without looking superficial or delicate.

“I thought you’d left,” I say.

“I did. I went downstairs. The restaurant has this coffee with blood orange and grapefruit mixed into it. They’re known for it throughout the country. It seemed like something you’d like, but you can spit it out if you hate it.”

I take the mug from him. The warm ceramic feels nice compared to the faint chill in the room. After we’d had sex twice in the night, it’d been unbearably hot. We’d still stayed close together, our sweat-stained skin constantly finding each other, but I must have used up all of the heat in my body because it feels like it dropped thirty degrees.

“What time is it?” I ask, looking around for a clock. I glance back at him when he doesn’t answer. He’s gazing at me with a softness that could almost be mistaken as adoration. He blinks and checks his phone.

“9:24,” he says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Wow. I never sleep that late.”

“We were busy last night.”

“Sure, but you didn’t sleep in.”

“I wanted to make sure my work was finished, so when we restart our marathon, I can give all of myself to you,” he says.

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